Charles Busch is best known as a comedic playwright, but sometimes he takes his shows to the big screen and turns them into small-scale but entertaining oddities, Psycho Beach Party and Die, Mommie, Die being the best examples. A Very Serious Person was actually written as a screenplay, but it feels like a play: a few well-drawn characters interacting mainly within the confines of a beach-town house over the course of one meaningful summer.

The house belongs to Mrs. Aaronson (Polly Bergen), a feisty old woman who has a terminal illness and knows this will be her last summer. She's invited her 13-year-old grandson Gil (P.J. Verhoest) to spend it with her and her longtime maid and helper Betty (Dana Ivey). Gil is an interesting kid, an arts and crafts specialist who loves watching Gone With the Wind and dressing up. He's clearly on his way to being gay, and he knows it, although he's not quite sure what to do with that knowledge. Mrs. Aaronson indulges him. For her, it's not an issue. She just wishes he'd go outside long enough to learn how to swim.

Charles Busch loves the movies. More specifically, he loves the grand dames of classic American cinema. He loves them so much that he likes to dress up like them and retell their best stories with campy humor. Just try to count the movies from which he has borrowed bits and pieces to build Die, Mommie, Die, and try to count the actresses he channels. You'll notice bits of Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Jane Wyman, Rosalind Russell, and even Susan Hayward's memorable Helen Lawson from Valley of the Dolls.

As the world's most ardent fan of the golden age of Hollywood B-movie camp, playwright/actor Charles Busch has made a busy career out of writing and starring in plays and movies that parody the perils of over-the-top leading ladies of yesteryear. He's usually the lady -- his drag is impeccable -- hence the title of this documentary, The Lady in Question Is Charles Busch, itself a title lifted from the 1940 Rita Hayworth potboiler The Lady in Question.

A classic misunderstood sissy and closet theater queen, Busch luckily made his way to the darkest corners of New York's East Village just in time to catch a wave of creative energy that pulsated downtown in the early '80s. With an enthusiastic group of hangers-on in tow, he was able to put his "let's-put-on-a-show" attitude to work, cranking out a long string of camptastic plays for the downtown demimonde including Vampire Lesbians of Sodom, Psycho Beach Party, and the memorably titled Theodora: She-Bitch of Byzantium. His Theater In Limbo troupe became the toast of the town, or at least a certain part of town.

Not since Rocky Horror has the film world produced such a vibrant farce of teen angst, violence, and sexual deviance. And here comes Rocky's comeuppance, as off-Broadway cult icon Charles Busch has scripted a work of sheer demented brilliance in the gleefully absurd Psycho Beach Party.

Originally performed on the stage, Psycho Beach Party is the story of a teenage girl who wants desperately to surf. It's also the story of a female cop who used to be a man. And some homoerotic surfers. And a beautiful movie star who's hiding from Hollywood. And an alcoholic mother with no grasp of the present. And a psychotic killer who hacks people up for their imperfections. And it all takes place at Malibu Beach in 1962.

Amateurish (and awfully titled) thriller has Tony Goldwyn romping about an urban apartment building, practicing as the local psychiatrist now and then, offing his patients when the mood strikes. Has some bright spots, but overwhelmingly the movie is slow and plodding and just plain badly made. Really not worth the trouble.

Charles Busch loves the movies. More specifically, he loves the grand dames of classic American cinema. He loves them so much that he likes to dress up like them and retell their best stories with campy humor. Just try to count the movies from which he has borrowed bits and pieces to build Die, Mommie, Die, and try to count the actresses he channels. You'll notice bits of Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Jane Wyman, Rosalind Russell, and even Susan Hayward's memorable Helen Lawson from Valley of the Dolls.